'Os cheerless poverty. How many shake With all the siercer tortures os the mind, Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse-; Whence tumbled headlong srom the height os lise, They surnish matter sor the tragic muse. Even in the vale, where wisdom loves todweli, With sriendship, peace and contemplation jom'd, How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop _ In deep retir'd distress. How many stand Around the death-bed os their flearest sriends, And point the parting anguish. Thought, sond man Os these, and all the thousand nameless ills, That one incessant struggle render lise, "One scene os toil, os suffering and os sale, .Vice in his high career would stand appall'd, And heedless rambling impulse learn to think; The conscious heart os charity would warm, And her wide wish benevolence dilate; The social tear would rise, the social ngh; And into clear persection, gradual bliss Resining still, the social passions work.

THE

BEGGAR'S PETITION;

Pity the sorrows os a poor old man!

Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whofedays are dwindled to the shortest span,